


Bittersweet Surrender

by kereia



Category: Gladiator (2000)
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, F/M, Frottage, Missing Scene, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:37:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/pseuds/kereia
Summary: Though Maximus tries to send her away, Lucilla is not easily dissuaded. She's always been stubborn. It's one of the things that Maximus used to love about her.Expands on the scene in which Lucilla visits Maximus to persuade him to meet one of the senators. You know, the one where he's all chained up and unreasonably hot. Does this need a male bondage tag?





	Bittersweet Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellabaloo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellabaloo/gifts).



> Okay, so I've had a super vague idea for this bouncing around my head for a truly ridiculous number of years, and when I saw your Yuleporn entry, I could not resist. I figured, if I don't write this now, I never will, and then you listed frottage as a kink, and everything just clicked into place. Thank you sooooo much for requesting this. It was a joy to write, (I say, after turning this into an angst-fest ;-) ) and I hope you like it.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

 

 

"Forget you ever knew me," Maximus said with a finality that cut her to the bone. "And never come here again."

For a moment, he held her gaze, the turmoil behind his eyes belying the utter stillness of his body. Then, he turned away from her, and Lucilla felt bereaved by the sudden loss of connection, however intangible it had been to begin with. In spite of the warmth that lingered in the air, she shivered from a cold that had burrowed deep into her bones.

"Guard," he shouted at the jailer waiting just beyond the door. "The lady has finished with me." His voice was rough, its cadence full of grief and regret.

But she couldn't leave; leaving would mean defeat. And that was something she could not afford. _Her son_ could not afford it. And neither could Rome. As the guard's key slid into the lock, she squared her shoulders. "Stay back," she commanded. "I will leave when I've had my pleasure, not before."

For a moment, the ensuing silence filled her with uncertainty, but then, the guard withdrew.

Steeling herself, she turned back to Maximus, whose expression was closed off and immutable.

I will not change my mind," he said, stiffly.

“And I cannot leave until you do,” she replied not without sympathy. She knew what she was asking of him.

She didn't think that she could adequately explain the shock that had staggered her, when he had revealed himself to Commodus – the desperate, agonizing hope that had filled her up, and the overwhelming sense of dread that had followed it. He was alive. No longer free, but alive. And her brother would not rest until that fact was remedied. Yet, there was no one she would rather entrust with her son's live or, indeed, the fate of Rome. He was the only one who could save them all, and it killed her to place this burden on his shoulders, after everything he had endured. But there was no other way.

She did not expect him to yield easily, and indeed he did not.

Maximus took a step towards her, his arms straining against the chains that held him. His voice was full of anger. "Your pride has served you ill before, and it will not help you now. Leave me be."

Lucilla laughed bitterly. "Pride?" she asked and shook her head. "What you see before you is desperation. Desperation and fear. I live inside a cage, and my son's life is in constant danger. His safety is the last thought before I close my eyes, and the first after I awake. And in between those hours, my dreams remind me all too clearly of what Commodus is capable."

She laid a hand against his chest, but he flinched away as if she'd burned him, and that, too, felt like a stab to her heart.

"You seek revenge against my brother, and I can help you." Keeping her distance, she sought his gaze. "All I ask, is that you listen to a man who could well be a powerful ally. I understand that the idea of Rome as it should be, means nothing to you, right now. But will you not do this for the memory of my father?" she pleaded. "And for the life of my son?"

Finally, he looked at her, and in the flickering light of the fire beside him, she could see the wariness in his eyes.

"And for you?" he asked, something fragile and elusive in his eyes that she dared not try to decipher.

Pressing her hands to her stomach, she tried to quell the jittery feeling inside her. Those memories where best not revisited tonight. "I have no right to do so. I know what I did to you."

A humorless smile ghosted across his face. "Family before self," he said bitterly.

Lucilla's nails dug into her stomach, but she felt the pain of it far deeper than the surface of her skin. It had been one of the hardest decisions in her life to walk away from him, all those years ago, even though she'd known that it was the sensible thing to do. Still, she felt as if she'd irrevocably lost a part of herself that day. A part that had made her stronger. But she couldn't allow herself to dwell on what was lost; not when she was desperately trying to save that which remained.

"You and I, we both dedicated our lives to a higher cause. And while you may have lost faith in it, I cannot afford to. Even with all that has been taken, I have too much still to lose."

She could see understanding in his face, as well as the reluctance with which the emotion was acknowledged. His body stilled as he regarded her, his eyes dark and bottomless. Lucilla felt a familiar pull inside her and drew closer, unable to resist temptation.

 _"I know_ that I have no right to ask," she continued as a spark of hope propelled her onward, "but you are the only one who can tear Rome for my brother's grasp and restore it to its people."

For a long moment, he said nothing, and the silence between them was suffocating. She held her breath, feeling as if she stood on the edge of a great precipice, and even the smallest misstep would tip her over. Finally, he averted his gaze, and she could see the tension drain from his shoulders as he reached a decision.

“I cannot promise that I will live long enough for this to mean anything, but give me time to consider.”

Relief made her light-headed. She gulped a desperate breath of air as her hands came to rest on his shoulders. He was warm and solid beneath her palms, the strength of his body a stark contrast to the fatigue radiating off him.

“Thank you,” she said with a cautious smile. “I will try to be patient.”

Something sparked in his eyes. "I remember a time when patience was beyond you," he said quietly, his gaze filled with an intensity that suddenly held her spell-bound.

Lucilla exhaled, uncertain if it was wise to reawaken what they had buried long ago. She stepped back. "I was young," she said, recalling old regrets. "Young. And foolish."

"You were _brave,"_ he corrected her with a note of awe in his voice that she did not deserve. But it was the tenderness in his eyes, that took her breath away. "And defiant of the plans your father had for you."

Her lips parting on an unsteady breath, Lucilla closed her eyes. She did not want to remember. Not the long looks across a crowded room, not the stolen kisses in an orchard, or the anticipation that had rissen with every hour their duties had separated them, until it had become almost unbearable – until she'd _ached_ for him – her skin so sensitive to his touch, that she'd shivered at the mere memory of his hands on her body.

"It was a long time ago,” she said, lost in the memory of his scent and his intoxicating warmth, “when I still allowed myself…" she stopped, and her eyes snapped open.

Maximus stood directly in front of her. And though his arms were drawn back by his shackles, his nearness had never felt more intimate. "When you allowed yourself what?" he asked softly, and she could feel his breath on her face.

Instinctively, she stepped forward to ease the strain on his arms, and he withdrew until the chains holding him gave him just enough reach to place his hands on her naked shoulders.

"When I allowed myself to want," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

His fingers trailed upward, until he cradled her face. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, and no power on earth could have made her withdraw from the way his touch eased her troubled soul.

"What did you want?" he asked, intently.

She drank in the sight of him, so soft and strong and yielding. It seemed mad that she could feel safe in a place like this, but in this moment, with him here beside the fire, this dirty cell seemed like a sanctuary.

"Everything," she answered hoarsely.

"And how long has it been, since you allowed yourself to want _anything_?"

The question hit her like a battering ram to the chest. Tears sprang to her eyes as she gasped for breath. It wasn't fair. She had built her walls so high and strong that she'd believed them to be insurmountable. Yet, he'd torn them down with a few words. It left her reeling to know that he saw her loneliness, her most bitter regrets, and accepted them without flinching.

"Too long," she said, her voice pitched so slow as to be barely audible. She struggled for composure, but it was lost to her when Maximus pulled her into his arms. She fell heavily against him, her hands fisting in the rough fabric at his waist. “I can't even remember it,” she confessed as her tears soaked into his tunic.

He held her close, his hand smoothing down her hair. "Then you might as well make use of me," he offered, his voice rough with emotion.

She looked at him askance before the meaning of his words sank in. Then, a hollow laugh escaped her throat. "Don't be absurd," she said, shaking her head.

He looked at her steadily, leaving no doubt as to the sincerity of his words. "Let this be my gift to you. It may be the last I have to give."

Her hand came to rest above his own, where he had brushed the wetness from her cheek. "Because you might die tomorrow?" she asked, bitterly.

"I am already dead."

Her entire body reeled as if it had been dealt a mortal blow. "Don't say that." She pressed a hand to his mouth as if she wanted to lock the words away behind his lips. " _Don't_ say that," she repeated, tears flowing freely.

He regarded her quietly for a moment, then took her hand and pressed it to his chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady beneath her palm. "Let me do this for you." When he paused, it was with a note of hesitance. He seemed to weigh his next words carefully. "And for myself," he continued, at last.

With the acknowledgment of his own longing hovering between them, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to kiss him.

She had taught herself denial – had practiced it with an iron will – and it had left her starved not just for intimacy, but a chance to let her guard down without fearing repercussions. But this was Maximus, and she had never felt more free then when he'd held her in his arms. And as she slanted her mouth against his – hot and hard and greedy – he met her with the same ferocity that burned through every fibre of her being.

She pushed him back against the wall, which gave his hands free rein to her body, and she revelled in the passion of his touch as he mapped the curves and angles of her body. He pulled her hard against him, and she moaned, her nails digging into his back. He swallowed that sound and brushed his tongue inside her mouth. His scent, his taste, the feel of him beneath her hands were at once achingly familiar and excitingly new.

Her knees went week, and, head spinning with desire, she rubbed her thighs together, the wetness between them sending another thrill up her spine. She had all but forgotten how it felt to lose herself like this. Her hands sought the hot, slick skin beneath his tunic, and Maximus briefly pulled back to tear the fabric asunder. His eyes were stormy as he held her gaze. And when he reached for her, it was with the same desperation for her touch that had stolen her breath away, years before the politics of her family had torn them apart.

As she savored the feel of his muscles beneath her palms, his mouth left a trail of heated kisses along her throat, and when he sucked the skin beneath her ear into his mouth, she threw her head back with a gasp. The sheer force of her need for him shook her to the core – desire coiling and twisting so deep within her that she trembled.

His name tumbled from her lips as she held his head and let herself drown in the sensations he awoke within her. He lifted her effortlessly, muscles shifting in his arms, and after a few seconds of inelegant maneuvering due to the restraints that tethered him, Lucilla found herself deliciously trapped between Maximus and the wall. An almost feral smile stole over her face when she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed against her, his erection sliding hard against the cradle of her thighs, the silken flesh separated from her only by the thin layer of her dress. This, too, was all too familiar. They'd had to be careful back then, just as they did now.

She rocked against him, eager and wanting, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Her mouth found the juncture between his shoulder and neck, and she bit down on what she remembered as a favorite spot. A groan, deep and rolling, tore from his throat and reverberated along the line of her collarbone as he rubbed himself against her. His hands clenched her buttocks, holding her securely in place, even as she reached down to adjust the folds of her dress. The result was the most exquisite, agonizing pressure right where she needed it.

He thrust against her, harder, faster, his breathing as erratic as her own. Clutching at the solid mass of his shoulders, Lucilla shuddered violently as she tumbled over the precipice, a silent cry on her lips. She had barely caught her breath, when he followed her, his muscles straining beneath her hands.

For a long moment, they simply remained as they were – sated and content, the troubles of their lives locked away behind the door of this cell. Maximus rested his forehead against hers, and she cradled his head, soaking up the solid warmth of his body. All too aware that reality would intrude far too soon, and that the guard could not be held at bay indefinitely, Lucilla eventually untangled herself with reluctance.

Releasing her, Maximus helped her hide the evidence of their actions beneath the cloak she wore. Her dress was ruined, but she could not bring herself to care. “You need to go,” he said quietly, his voice a deep rumble that sent a pleasant shiver up her spine.

“I know,” she replied, but she was loath to leave the shelter of his arms and pressed her mouth to his in a last, lingering kiss. His hand came to rest against the side of her face as he returned it, and though she knew that it was foolish of her, she could not help but wonder what would have become of them, had they both chosen to walk the same path when they'd had the chance.

Pulling back, she found his gaze and held it. “Stay alive,” she said, her words both plea and command.

Drawing her against him, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Be safe,” he replied, and she recognized it as the sidestep that it was. She could not blame him for it. His future was even more uncertain than hers.

Stealing herself, she pulled away and headed towards the door, calling for the guard as she went. As the cell was opened, she cast one last look back at him. He was still facing the wall, his body rooted to the spot. Her eyes lingered for the space of two heartbeats as she wondered if she would ever see him alive again.

Another moment passed, and hope rose within her. Yes, she would. The alternative was unacceptable.

The End

 


End file.
